Pull of the Moon
by Athena Silverwolf
Summary: When Will accepted the task to save Elizabeth's life, he thought he was fighting for love. He never expected the quest to end in the ultimate betrayal. Meg, an orphan girl, has known her whole life she was destined to be caught. She knows the price people pay for freedom. She's accepted it. Too bad for her that Will won't. Follows Dead Man's Chest/At World's End with changes.
1. Prologue

**AN: This is my first PotC story, so I may come back and change some stuff once I've already written it. Read and review please!**

Prologue

"Captain!" a sailor's rough voice cut through the wind on deck, making the tall blonde man at the helm turn to the port side. The man, Edmund, was looking down at the water with a frantic look on his face. "Life boat, sir!"

"Bring her up!" the captain yelled, and several men scrambled to grab ropes and hooks. When the small life boat was dragged up, the men stepped away, their faces masks of disgust. Upon seeing the two dead men in the boat, the captain crossed himself but leaned forward anyhow. One had been shot through the chest, the other cut down with a blade, probably a sword. But it was the odd lump under the stabbed man's arm that had caught the merchant captain's attention.

He moved the blanket aside and drew a sharp breath. A small girl lay curled against the dead man, dressed in a ripped blue dress. But it was the shallow rise and fall of her chest that made him reach in and pull her from the boat. "Get water! She's alive!" he snapped to Edmund. A water skin was shoved into his hands, already unstopped, so he let a trickle of the liquid run between dry, cracked lips.

"She can't be more than three years old," Edmund observed as the girl swallowed, then began to cough. Her eyelids fluttered, like she was trying to wake up, so the captain poured a little more water into her mouth. This time she swallowed it without coughing and whimpered when the trickle stopped.

"Little sips now, little sips," the captain told her softly, surprising the crew with his gentleness. Her eyes finally opened, revealing a bright blue gaze that searched frantically for the source of the cool fresh water. The captain helped her take several small sips before he reached to pick her up.

Instantly she flinched away, her back hitting the side of the lifeboat with a thud. "You're okay, little one. We're not going to hurt you. I'm Captain Davis. These are my men," he told her, sitting back on his heels and waving the crew back to work.

Her head tilted to the side and she looked over her shoulder at the lifeboat. Pulling herself to her feet, she looked into the craft. Instead of coiling away from the dead, she reached passed the stabbed one and grabbed the shot one's arm. Looking over her shoulder, she saw that Davis had not moved and beckoned him over. When he stood beside her, she climbed into the little boat and pushed back the sleeve of the shot man. There was a white tattoo on his forearm and Davis understood immediately. "He's a pirate?" he asked the girl.

She nodded and pointed at the stabbed man. Shaking her head she touched the tattoo again. "And he's not?" Davis checked, wondering why she wouldn't speak. Again she nodded and pointed to the flag she could see on the back of the ship. "He's English?" Another nod and a tapping of her own chest made him ask, "You're English?" She nodded vigorously this time. "What happened to your ship?" This got the dead pirate a jab in the chest. "Pirates attacked your ship? Did they sink it?" Now the girl looked away and climbed out of the boat. She moved to the railing, looking out over the sea, and nodded sadly. She had remarkable sea legs for a girl, and a very young one at that.

"What's your name?" he asked, kneeling beside her.

She looked at him for a long time, her tired blue eyes searching his weathered face. She took in his blue shirt and brown jacket, brown pants, and simple, sturdy black boots. There was a pistol stuck through his belt, and he wore his brown hair tied back in a short ponytail. He didn't know what she was looking for but she didn't seem to find it. In a quiet, ragged voice she murmured, "Margaret."

Captain Davis studied the girl just as she watched him. Her salt-dried and windblown hair would be blonde once it was washed, and she was barefoot. The once nice blue dress she wore had been torn, the skirt shredded, one sleeve torn open at the shoulder. Removing his jacket, he set it about her shoulders and said, "Well, Miss Margaret, welcome aboard the _Hawk_."


	2. Port Royal

**AN: Thanks to And From the Ashes I Shall Rise for reviewing! So this is going to start along with Dead Man's Chest, from Meg's point of view.**

Chapter 1

Standing at the railing of the mighty British ship, I stared out through the rain. On the deck below me, two redcoats blocked my decent; two more stood behind me, ever a watchful eye on me. Through one's belt were a pair of manacles. On my wrists were the matching raw lines. But for now, I relished in what little freedom I had. My fingers danced along the rail as I flexed my wrists and bend my arms, welcoming the rain.

"Come, girl," a sharp voice ordered. I turned from the rail, bowing my head, and the irons were clamped about my tanned forearms once more. A soldier took me by the arm and led me into one of the longboats, where I was surrounded by the bloody red jackets. Lord Beckett's horse, with Beckett himself already in the saddle, stood patiently as the men around him rowed. The nearer we grew to shore the more tense I grew. The lord had told me that Port Royal was the home of the man who was to take me to my destination.

So throughout the entire journey I'd dressed in the god-awful corsets and the pompous dresses with complaints held fast by tight lips. My hair was pinned and coiled with a hat or ribbons. An elegant fan was clutched in my hand and though it was lighter and flimsier than what I was accustomed to, I was sure I could turn it into a weapon. I kept quiet, like the shy little mouse all proper women were supposed to be, though my mind clamored with insults and curses.

A coat had been draped over my shoulders, a hood lifted to cover my hair, and now I peaked from under it at my boat struck shore. I did not protest as two guards seized either arm and lifted me straight out of the craft; I was used to this by now. They carried me up the beach behind Lord Beckett's white horse, not setting me down until we stood under white marble awnings.

Before us, on a green lawn, tables and chairs had been set up for a crowd. Flowers and ribbons quickly told me this was supposed to be a joyous event, and I understood when Beckett came to a stop at the end of the aisle. A beautiful young woman, proper and soaking in an English bridal gown, stood from kneeling at the altar, turning as she did. Her bride's bouquet dropped from her hand when she saw Lord Beckett behind her, and I realized she was to be married today. Until Beckett had literally poured rain on her celebration.

I looked around as the other half of the troops returned, escorting the man who could only be the groom. He was handsome, I had to admit, in a sculpted, proud kind of way. But the formal clothes looked uncomfortable, as though he did not wear them every day of his life. A flash of appreciation ran through me. This was an honest, hard-working man, not a pig-nosed English gentleman. I'd wager he had calloused hands too.

The bride came running down the aisle, lifting her skirts back, and hurried towards us. "Will!" she breathed, touching the manacles before she reached for the collar of his jacket. "Why is this happening?" she asked frantically.

"I don't know," Will sighed, but he smiled down at her none the less. "You look beautiful," he told her as she played with his shirt and scarf.

When she looked up, I was taken back. She was truly beautiful, even dripping and trying not to cry. "I think it's bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding," she told him.

"Make way, let me though!" an older voice ordered, and the crowd on the other side of the couple parted. Two soldiers crossed their spears, blocking a very well dressed man's approach. "How dare you?" the man snapped. He wore a long curly wig of gray that I associated with wealthy lords and I wondered what stately title he held. He was clearly not a military man. "Stand your men down at once!" he roared at Beckett. "Do you hear me?" he snapped.

Beckett turned then, handing off his coat, and he glanced at me before he looked at the old man. There was a smugness I did not like in his eyes, I knew it spelled trouble. He had worn that look every time something went exactly as planned. "Governor Weathersby Swan, it's been too long," Beckett said smoothly.

"Cutler Beckett?" the governor realized, astounded.

"It's Lord, now, actually," Beckett told him, and the men pulled their spears away.

"Lord or not, you have no reason or authority to arrest this man," Governor Swan replied. He stepped forward angrily, gesturing at the groom. There was a spark of fire in him that made me realize why this man had been made a governor of the King's port. But I wondered what had ignited the spark. Was he perhaps a just and loving governor? Or could this be his daughter, the beautiful bride?

"Actually, I do," Beckett told him without a trace of remorse or apology. My eyes narrowed under my hood at his tone and I knew something bad was about to happen. "Mr. Mercer?" he called, and his aid stepped forward with a ready held sheaf. Beckett withdrew a piece of parchment and handed it over, explaining, "The warrant for the arrest of one William Turner."

Turner? My head lifted now at the name that I had heard before. But why did I know it?

Governor Swan cast a horrified look at the couple as he took the warrant, opening it to examine it. Will lifted his bowed head as his bride turned back to him, and I fixed my gaze on the governor. He looked up from the warrant, confused, then double checked it. Looking quickly to the bride, he said, "This warrant is for Elizabeth Swan."

"Oh, is it? That's annoying. My mistake. Arrest her," Beckett replied flatly. Immediately two blue coated, yellow vested men surged forward and grabbed the bride.

"On what charges?" Ms. Swan demanded as the one William Turner tried to step forward and intervene. Two rec-jacketed guards stopped him, yanking him back roughly, and I glared at Beckett. This was not what he had said we'd come here for.

"Ah. Here's the one for William Turner," the lord said, handing over the second warrant. "And I have another one for a Mr. James Norrington, is he present?" Beckett announced, stepping forward and raising the warrant. Under my hood, I rolled my eyes at his theatrics. He had not earned himself any supporters in Port Royal today.

Ms. Swan was fighting the man locking the manacles around her wrists and I sighed. This was hardly fair. "What are the charges?" she demanded of Beckett.

Beckett turned to her, lowering the folded paper as Governor Swan spoke. "Commodore Norrington resigned his commission some months ago," he explained.

"I don't believe that was the answer to the question I asked," Beckett told him. I resisted the urge to sigh at him; it was quite obvious Norrington was gone.

"Lord Beckett!" Mr. Turner snapped, making the lord turn back around. "In the category of questions not answered." Turner was positively furious as he clenched his jaw and snarled the words at the snake in front of him.

"We are under the jurisdiction of the King's governor of Port Royal," Ms. Swan reminded him. "And you will tell us what we are charged with," she ordered. I could not resist the smirk now, so I bowed my head to hide any glimpse of it. Ms. Swan had some spirit. I liked that. It reminded me of home.

"The charge is conspiring to set free a man convicted of crimes against the crown and empire and condemned to death," Governor Swan read to her. "For which the," then he cut himself off in shock.

But I felt my eyes widen as Beckett finished for him, "For which the punishment, regrettably, is also death." Mr. Turner instantly looked over at Elizabeth, who'd gone pale in the soldier's grasp. "Perhaps you remember a certain pirate named Jack Sparrow," Beckett suggested to Mr. Turner.

"Captain," the manacled couple snapped at him in perfect sync.

Beckett turned triumphantly to Ms. Swan, and she leveled an icy glare at him as she said, "Captain Jack Sparrow."

"Captain Jack Sparrow. Yes, I thought you might," Beckett told her with smug success. The two had just admitted to knowing Sparrow. "Take them away," he ordered, and Will and Elizabeth were dragged away, fighting and struggling in their captivity. I was dragged along after Beckett by the two soldiers holding my upper arms, and I saw people glancing at me as I was led past them.

I said nothing until the manacles had been removed from my wrists and the coat pulled from my shoulders. Then I sat gracefully in the armchair Beckett offered me before the fire and waited. Red jackets came and went as a much older man set to work on the map on the wall. He was adding newly discovered islands and such. It was a fascinating map, showing so much more of the world than I'd ever seen. After Beckett set a plate of grapes and sliced apples in front of me, he did not heed me any attention, for he held council with his officers too quietly for me to hear.

It was not until William Turner was led into the room that I looked away from the map. "Lord Beckett, the prisoner as ordered, sir" one of the men said.

"Those won't be necessary," Beckett told him, and the man quickly unlocked the manacles from Will's wrists. "Come," the lord beckoned Mr. Turner over, glancing at me as he did.

"Why am I here?" the young man asked he went to stand beside the table.

Beckett did not reply for the time it took him to pour a glass of whiskey. He held the finely cut bottle up to me and I shook my head at the offer. Turner did not even spare me a glance over his shoulder as Beckett said, "The East India trading Company has need of your services." He offered a crystal goblet to Turner, who declined with stony silence. "We wish for you to act as our agent in a business transaction with our mutual friend, Captain Sparrow," Beckett explained as he moved to the fireplace.

"More of an acquaintance than friend," Turner corrected before he asked, "How do you know him?"

"We've had dealings in the past," Beckett replied, keeping his back to Turner. Now I watched, curious as to the brand Beckett had heating in the fire. "And we've each left our mark on the other."

"What mark did he leave on you?" Turner asked, seemingly in cold scorn.

But Beckett did not answer, instead lowering the brand back into the fire. "By your efforts, Jack Sparrow was set free. I would like you to go to him and recover a certain property of his possession," he said instead, returning to stand before the taller Turner. He downed the whiskey in his glass as I moved up to stand nearby, at the edge of the table

"Recover, at the point of a sword?" Turner asked. His eyes were cold and calculating, unable to mask his anger and hatred.

"Bargain," Beckett corrected, striding over to another table. He opened a chest engraved with the East India Trading Company's logo as Turner watched. He held up a folded document and said, "Letters of Marque. You will offer what amounts to a full pardon. Jack will be free, a privateer in the employ of England."

I could hold back my startled and incredulous laugh, but not the eye roll. Across the table from me, Turner's eyebrows shot up before returning to their normal flat expression. Clearly he could not believe Beckett either. "Somehow I doubt Jack will consider employment the same as being free," the young man told him.

"Freedom," Beckett sighed scornfully, as if the idea amused him. He closed the chest, running his hand gently over the logo before he took my arm and pulled me alongside him. Beckoning to Turner, he strode out onto the balcony, where we could watch ships being loaded and a cloak being raised. "Jack Sparrow is a dying breed," Beckett told Turner. The young man came to stand on the lord's other side, glancing down at me only now.

"The world is shrinking, the blank edges of the map filled in. Jack must find his place in the new world or perish," Beckett said simply, turning to face the brunette man. With Beckett's back to me, I was able to study Turner over his shoulder. "Not unlike yourself, Mr. Turner," the lord observed. "You and your fiancée face the hangman's noose," he reminded the man who clearly did not like him.

"So you get both Jack and the Black Pearl?" Turner checked. It was pretty clear to me that this man would do anything for Ms. Swan, his dearly beloved. That could make him both predictable and dangerous.

"The Black Pearl?" Beckett asked, surprised.

"The property you want that he possesses," Turner pointed out. What else could there be but a pirate's ship?

"A ship, hardly. The item in question is considerably smaller and far more valuable. It is something Sparrow keeps on his person at all times. A compass?" Turner looked away, clearly remembering. "Ah, you know it," Beckett realized smugly. "Bring back that compass or there's no deal," the lord told him.

"And what deal have you made him? You've traded a compass for a pirate," I finally spoke up, curious as to why on earth I was even here.

"Ah yes. Mr. Turner, bring back Sparrow's compass, and you and your fiancée go free," Beckett said, turning back. "And you, Ms. Davis, shall accompany him. Return with the compass and I will consider your sentence paid," he told me.

"You would have a woman accompany me?" Turner asked.

"You will find she is most capable," Beckett assured him. "Now go, you have an hour to prepare yourself, Mr. Turner. Ms. Davis, come," he ordered. With long strides the young man left the governor's office, a new purpose in the set of his shoulders. I followed after Beckett, who led me further inside the hall to a private chamber. Inside I found a trunk with my belongings. "Do as you must," Beckett sighed, finding the trunk distasteful.

He was right to. At least, for a pig-nosed English gentleman he was. But for me, the trunk was a bit of my life, of my freedom. Dropping to my knees before it, I threw it open and stared in astonishment. I withdrew the plain blue shirt and pressed my face into the fabric. It still smelled of the wind and the ocean. Reaching behind me, I yanked at the ties on my dress and fought my way free. The ridiculous pink gown ended up in a heap on the floor, along with the corset, stockings, and shoes. In its place went the blue shirt and a dark brown vest. Leaving the laces on the collar untied allowed me to tie my rawhide pendant around my neck and display the turquoise beads. A pair of tight tan pants made me feel far more feminine than any dress and corset could since they clung to the muscles in my legs. Next came a pair of knee high brown boots with a two inch heel.

Lastly came a gray coat with silver buttons. Before I slipped it on, I rolled up the sleeves on my shirt, revealing the faint white lines of a lace like pattern of scars on my right arm. But the best surprise was at the bottom of the trunk. My sword, still in her sheath on her thick belt went quickly into her familiar place on my left hip.

Then I yanked all the pins out of my hair and let the curls tumble down my back. Taking the last of my clothes from the trunk left me with a simple blue scarf in my hands. Though my hair was not usually curled in such a manor, it was easy enough to gather the blonde curls and tie the scarf around my head. I wore it to cover the top of my head and keep my hair back, though the long ends hung down over my shoulder for a bit of style. Knotting the scarf under my right ear, I turned to the looking glass on the far wall. "There you are, Meg. This is much better than that dress," I sighed happily. If felt a little bit like freedom to be back in my own clothes.

Then there was a knock on the door and I opened it to find Beckett. He scowled at me, lifting his nose in clear dislike of my outfit. "This way," he ordered stiffly. I grinned openly at his back; in my boots I was taller than him.

"You wouldn't happened to have my makeup too, would you?" I asked sweetly.

"Enough of that, Ms. Davis. Here's your ship. I trust you can prepare her for the journey," the lord said.

My jaw dropped when I saw the tiny vessel tied to the docks. "You would have us sail in that? That is not a ship," I snapped.

"You and Mr. Turner are capable seafarers. This will do," he sneered smugly. I glowered at him but jumped down onto the filthy deck. The planks creaked under my feet, and I deftly avoided a hole in the floor.

"That is not a ship," Mr. Turner appeared on the docks behind the lord. His eyes were cold as he stared down at the ailing craft. The sails were old and ripped, and I knew that this boat would have been ripped apart for firewood had Beckett not ordered us to use it. So I sighed and set to work on the riggings, readying the boat for the journey. Turner jumped down beside me, running his eyes over my new outfit. "Ms. Davis?" he asked, clearly not recognizing me.

"Call me Meg, please, Mr. Turner. I am not the pompous little mouse you met in the governor's hall," I assured him. It was simple enough to untie the ratty ship from the docks and shove off, ignoring Beckett's lofty sneer as I did.

Turner nodded, and his calculating gaze softened. "Then I am Will," he told me, climbing the failing stairs to the wheel. "We sail for Tortuga," he added. He guided the ship out of the harbor with a natural bearing that made me think of Captain Davis, the man who'd raised me on his ship.

"You know Tortuga?" I asked, surprised. He did not seem the type to know the port of pirates. Though, if he knew Sparrow, that would explain it.

"I have been only once, and it was brief at that. I would not dare if not for Jack," he assured me. "I'll not ask you to enter the city," he added.

At this, I had to laugh. "Don't worry about me, Will. I fear I am more familiar with Tortuga than you," I told him. Then, tapping the sword on my hip, I offered him a crooked grin and explained, "I've carried this my entire life." He nodded, still not smiling, and I turned back to the ropes.

The voyage to Tortuga was quiet and uneventful. Except, of course, the pathetic ship sprung a leak.


End file.
